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SUNDAY BRUNCH | Out & about


April 05, 1998|IRENE LACHER

If Andy Dick lived here, he'd be home by now.

Better still, if you lived here, you'd owe Dick money.

Here is where paradise lies, needless to say. And paradise in Dickland is a big ol' 1957 El Rey motor home so shiny you could see your face in it. Or more likely Dick's.

You know Dick's fun-house face from NBC's "NewsRadio," for which he provides a great public service. He plays a reporter who's so goony he makes the rest of us seem responsible. (OK, so maybe you already thought the media were responsible for everything.)

See Dick frown. The gonzo comedian is imagining himself in the sort of icky Formica-oid trailer indigenous to studio lots that is the visual equivalent of elevator music.

"It is literally toxic. It has carpeting, but it's real tacky, and the whole place has this design of squiggles of, I think, gray and blue, two-tone everywhere. It's just gross."

See Dick run to his new old trailer at Sunset Gower Studios, which cost him more than $24,000 to buy and restore. His trailer scout, Trifon Trifonopoulos, found it in a land far, far away, possibly named Arizona.

Trifonopoulos spent a year lovingly sanding and massaging the trailer back to its earlier incarnation as a haven of funky old appliances (and occasional new ones), blond birch and walls the color of seafoam. He spent hours polishing the exterior's airplane curves, fashioned by El Monte-based El Rey.

Dick's taste in trailers puts him in the company of such lifestyle pioneers as Tim Burton, Sean Penn and MTV, which sports a funkified Airstream in its Santa Monica office's lobby. He hangs in his El Rey when he's not working, and there he consumes bite-size video chunks of "Annie Hall." Every day.

"I keep watching a little bit here, a little bit there. It's taken me about a year. I want to study it. Sometimes I'll sit and see a half-hour. I have a very bad attention span. Can you tell? What's it called? Attention deficit . . . whatever."

It's called disorder. Hang in there, man.

Dick has found there are limits to what one can do in a classic trailer, including some of the things you might want to do in a classic trailer.

"You can't do anything lewd or crude because, look--"

Shake, shake, shake.

"It's moving. You can tell what's going on."

A few of us are being shaken around his trailer dining table, and one person is particularly impressed with Dick's demonstration. That's his girlfriend, Lina Sved, or Mama, as she likes to refer to herself.

"How did you discover that?" she asks, eyeing Dick with suspicion.

There's another easy-shake trailer in the driveway of Dick and Sved's home, which is also being restored, naturellement. Trailer No. 2 is the one he rents to movie companies.

Dick, 32, seems to like things in multiples. Two trailers. Two mamas. Sved is fine with the two trailers. She's less fine with the two mamas. That's how many used to live in Dick's duplex: Mama No. 1, Dick's ex-wife, Evone Dick, who's the mother of his 10-year-old son; and Mama No. 2, Sved, who produced their 3-year-old son and 6-month-old daughter.

"Let's just say Mama cleaned house," Mama volunteers. "It's the mom. There are no numbers involved. Just the mom."

As well as the occasional vagabond friend. In addition to multi-mamas, string-beany Dick has been known to collect Oliver Hardys.

"I have a lot of fat friends. It's like fatty and skinny. My whole life, I always have at least one really good fat friend. Isn't that weird?"

The most famous was the late Chris Farley, a longtime pal from their early days performing in Chicago. Dick last saw him a month before Farley died.

Mama sighs. "The last words he said to me when he saw our kids were, 'Yeah, I want to have kids someday.' Just makes me bawl."

Um, let's change the subject. Refrigerators. What about them?

"Refrigerators aren't good," says Dick, eyeing his Marvel refrigerator with suspicion. "Refrigerators are very bad. You know that, right?"

You mean, morally?

"In a lot of ways. Toxicity is what I'm talking about. Fluorocarbons. And so is the air conditioning. Everything is bad. The paint is."

And forget about the trailer's aluminum shell.


It is?

"Well, if you're licking it."


Bad News, Good News: Lights are flickering in night-life newsrooms around town. The chatty Buzz Weekly breathed its last last week when mother Buzz magazine laid off 12 people in editorial, advertising and marketing--a quarter of the trendoid glossy's staff.

The bottom line? Mom ate her 1-year-old to survive.

But let's look at this in a more complicated way.

"What limited investment dollars we had, we had to put against the core product," Buzz Inc. President Scott Kramer said. "We don't have enough to do both."

The magazine's best bets, gossip and celeb question-and-answer features move to the monthly starting with the July issue.

As if the loss of the weekly's tote-able listings weren't enough to send scenesters into a tizzy, another Los Angeles-based entertainment mag may be under the gun.

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